I haven't been able to stop thinking about these golden years. How they are stars colliding, as much as they are spilled milk, and too-scratchy socks, and soccer games that began 5 minutes before we get there. How we polish them with our tears and our sleeves, wearing them into beauty. Everything of worth, we have scratched from the earth.

The little hands that some days ask so much will one day reach for something else, and all the maps we sought were for nothing because the treasure was already ours.